


Always and Never

by rizcriz



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, hope you don't want a happy ending, quentin talks to margo, quentin's a depressed super sad dude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 11:13:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17917679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizcriz/pseuds/rizcriz
Summary: Quentin twists at the waist, side to side, slightly swaying, before mumbling, “We need to talk.”Margo closes her eyes for half a second, exhaling slowly, before saying, careful and concise, “Q. I have an entire world to rule over. I don’t have time to help you mour—““Eliot’s alive, Margo.”She stops. Sets down the pen in her hand, and turns to face him full on, clumsily reaching up to cross her arms. Whether it’s a way to defend herself, or because she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, Quentin doesn’t know. “What do you mean, he’s alive?” Quentin’s gaze darts away as her lip twitches. “You told me he died.”





	Always and Never

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted "Quentin tells Margo Eliot's alive" on tumblr
> 
> I'm not too happy with it, but it's here

“Hey.”

Margo looks up from where she’s staring blankly at the table. Her gaze softens when she sees Quentin standing in the doorway, his arms crossed anxiously in front of him. The look fades fast, though, when she meets his gaze and her eyebrows furrow.

“Why’s your face making that face?”

Quentin twists at the waist, side to side, slightly swaying, before mumbling, “We need to talk.”

Margo closes her eyes for half a second, exhaling slowly, before saying, careful and concise, “Q. I have an entire world to rule over. I don’t have time to help you mour—“

“Eliot’s alive, Margo.”

She stops. Sets down the pen in her hand, and turns to face him full on, clumsily reaching up to cross her arms. Whether it’s a way to defend herself, or because she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, Quentin doesn’t know. “What do you mean, he’s alive?” Quentin’s gaze darts away as her lip twitches. “You told me he died.”

“The monster lied.”

“Color me fucking shocked.” She scoffs, and drops down into the chair beside her. A hand comes up to rake through her hair. “How do you know?”

Quentin licks his lips, looks up at the ceiling, then down at the ground. Sighs. “He—Eliot. Uh. He, broke through?”

“What do you mean broke through?” She tilts her chin up, her eyes narrowing. Quentin pretends not to see the water collecting along the edges of her eyes.

“I mean,” He moves into the room. “Iris showed up with a plan, that apparently was going to get me killed—“

“What the fuck?”

“I know. Im alive though, so there’s that. But—“ 

“ _There’s that_?” She shoves out of the chair, and Quentin flinches as it goes flying backwards with a violent clatter against the wall. She slams a hand down on the table, and points at him with her other hand. “You went into whatever it is, knowing it’d kill you. Will you stop, just fucking once, Q, and think about someone other than yourself?”

“What?” He uncrosses his arms, because what the fuck? All he does anymore is think about other people. Okay, person, but still. “Margo, I was trying—“

She scoffs, interrupting him and moving around the table. “If the monster had killed you, where would that leave me? Huh?” She raises her eyebrows, scowling at him as she follows the edge of the table like a lioness stalking her prey. “As far as you were aware, Eliot was dead—“

He blanches. “I—the others—“

“The others aren’t my fucking friends!” She exclaims, throwing her hands out at her sides.

“Josh . . .”

She shakes her, stopping at the edge of the table. “If you’d gotten yourself killed, I’d have lost Eliot. And you. Do you know how hard I’ve been fighting to hold it together as it is, Q?”

“Margo—“

“No, shut the fuck up.” She purses her lips, before looks across the room. “Q, if you died. I wouldn’t have survived it.”

Quentin clears his throat, looking down at his feet. “I didn’t realize you cared.”

“Of course I care, you fucking idiot.” She turns her gaze on him, watches him for a beat, and before Quentin can even think to step back, she’s rushing across the room and grabbing him by the shoulders. “Listen to me,” she hisses, “I love you. You’re like the dumb little brother I never asked for. But I fucking love you. Got it?”

He sighs, rolling his eyes to look to the side. “Got it.”

She shakes her head, her chin trembling. “Q.”

“I didn’t want to risk it,” He says, without looking at her. He locks his gaze on the window behind her, past the balcony. To the mountains off in the distance. “I didn’t want to—let it run around and kill people using Eliot’s body. And I—“ he bites down on his bottom lip. “I couldn’t just. Look at it. Every day. Pretending that it wasn’t—that I didn’t—“

Margo waits for him to finish the sentence, when he doesn’t, she lets her hands fall to her side, and she takes a step back. “Didn’t what, Q?” He shakes his head, shifts to move around her, but she catches him by the elbow and pulls him back around. Her gaze has softened, is almost sympathetic. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

He huffs out a humorless laugh, yanking his arm out from her grasp. “Yeah,” He says, “But none of it matters.”

“Q . . .”

He shakes his head and looks down at the ground between them. “All that matters is finding a way to save him, Margo. I don’t care how we do it.” He looks back up at her, his hair falling in his face, “I don’t care if I die doing it. We’re getting him back.”

She exhales slowly, before reaching out and gently taking his hand in hers. “I care,” She says, “And I know he’ll care. If he comes back and you’re gone.”

He shakes his head minutely, turning to look back out the window. “He’ll probably be relieved. I’m not sure there’s anyone left who wouldn’t be.”

Her nails dig into his palm. “What?” She asks, sharp. “Q, you don’t—“

He reaches up with his free hand to pry his palm from hers, and without looking at her heads towards the window. “Every time I try to make things better, they get worse. Every time I try to be happy, I make someone miserable.” He’s not even sure she can hear him, he’s talking so quietly. But it doesn’t matter. He can’t even control the words anymore; they’ve been festering under the surface for weeks now. Months if he counts his time as Brian.

It all had to come out eventually. And considering the day he’s had, now may as well be when.

“That’s not true.”

So she _can_ hear him.

“Yes it is.” He stops at the window, rests his hands on the ledge, and pushes all his weight onto them to lean over. The breeze brushes over his skin, ruffling his hair. He’s surprised to find he’s missed the taste of opium in the air. “We were never supposed to kill Martin. If we hadn’t killed him, I wouldn’t have had to kill Umber. If I hadn’t killed Umber, magic never would have been turned off. And if magic had never been turned off, we never would have gone on that quest. And I—“ He breaks off, feels the familiar ache, longing for a life that he can never have again. “I never would have known what being happy felt like.” Twisting his neck, he looks back at Margo over his shoulder. “If I hadn’t—none of this would have happened. Eliot wouldn’t be possessed.”

As he turns back to look out the window, the sound of her heels clanking across the floor towards him, echo loud and angry through the room. She stops beside him, her hand wrapping around the windowsill beside his, as she lets out a slow exhale. “You can’t seriously blame all of this on yourself,” She says after a beat. Her voice trembles, and she adds, “It’s not, Q. It’s not all on you.”

“You’re right.” He looks down. “Just the bad shit is.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes it is.” He looks back up at her. “If we hadn’t—Look. You just—you need to know that I am exactly as pathetic as you’ve always thought. Okay? That—Eliot. Eliot’s just another person paying the price.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

“It means,” He shoves away from the window, and brings his hands up to his hair, gripping the sides of his head like he’s trying to anchor himself down. How can he even really put it all into words? Tell her that Eliot’s trapped because Quentin couldn’t handle the cracks in his heart? That she’s lost the most important person in her life, because Quentin couldn’t handle Eliot’s rejection? She doesn’t even know. She has no fucking clue what happened. “It means,” He tries again, closing his eyes, “That I don’t care what I have—have to do. Eliot’s. I’m not letting anything happen to him.”

Margo doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and when Quentin opens his eyes, it’s to find her just staring at him with an inscrutable look on her face.

Finally, she looks back at the window, and asks, “What happened today, Q?”

“All that matters is that we know Eliot’s alive.”

She twists her neck around and levels him with a glare. “That’s not what I asked, you dick.” Raising her eyebrows, she repeats the question, firmer. “ _What happened today, Q_?”

“Margo, I can’t do this—“

“Neither can I. And yet,” She turns back to him, spreading her arms at her side. “Here we are, Coldwater.”

He looks down, his hands fidgeting at his sides, and mutters, “I was caught off guard.”

“How?”

“He said something.” He looks up at her, clenching his jaw. “Margo, please—“

“What’d he say?”

He brings his hands up to waist level, wringing them in front of him, before licking his lips and looking away. “Did he ever,” He sniffs, blinking rapidly to keep any unwelcome tears at bay, “tell you what we talked about?”

Margo lets out an exasperated sigh, “Q, he’s told me about so many of your pointless conversations that I couldn’t guess what you’re talking about if I tried.”

“The day we came back to the castle. After you stopped us from going through the clock.”

She looks thoughtful for a moment, before she shakes her head. “No. Why?”

“The letter I sent you. When I said we lived a good life . . .” He trails off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. He takes a breath to steady himself before turning his back to her and heading for the chair she’d vacated and sitting down. He looks up at her from beneath his eyelashes, expects her to still have the pinched look of confusion, but instead, she’s staring at him with wide eyes, her jaw agape.

She takes a hesitant step towards him, tilt her chin up and away from him. “Q,” She says, careful, “Are you trying to tell me you’re in love with Eliot?” He doesn’t respond, just turns to pull his feet up onto the chair with him, tucking his knees up against his chest, and wrapping his arms around his legs. “Holy shit,” She breathes, “You are. You’re in love with Eliot. And you _know_ it.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” She clears the space in between them in just a few steps before, kneeling next to him. “Q, of course it fucking matters. You and Eliot—“

“I _told him_ , Margo.” He says. It’s simple. Just a fact that falls from his lips, and fills the room, even as it sucks all the air from his lungs. Leaves him empty. “I told him. He—He didn’t feel the same.”

“Bullshit.”

“He doesn’t _want_ me.” He shakes his head, closing his eyes. “Didn’t want me. I don’t know. I—I don’t know what to think right now.”

She’s quiet for a moment. He half expects her to start yelling at him. But when she speaks, all she does is ask, “Why? What happened?”

“What he said. To let me know that—that it was him. It was—“ He opens his eyes again and looks at her, tries with all his might to will the tears stinging his eyes away. “It’s what I said to him. Before he said we could never work.” He sniffs. “Then he just—he looked at me, like—“ he breaks off, shaking his head.

“Like?”

He frowns, feels a rogue tear escape, and shrugs. “Like he _loved_ me.” Which is impossible. Because Quentin spent the better half of a year trying to convince himself to get over his feelings. Had been willing to lock himself away so he wouldn’t have to face them. If Eliot loves him—

It was all for nothing.

It was all for nothing, and Eliot’s trapped inside his mind for no fucking _reason_.

He expects her to call him an idiot. Because he doesn’t doubt that’s what she thinks of him in the moment. Instead, she places a gentle hand on his ankle, her thumb stroking the bone there. “Well,” She says, taking a deep, steadying breath. “I guess this just means we have to figure some shit out and find out what the fuck Eliot’s problem is.” Quentin raises an eyebrow, and her jaw clicks as she reaches up with her free hand to quickly wipe at her right eye.

“What?”

“No more lallygagging, Quentin.” She squeezes his ankle and then stands up, holds her hand out for him. “We’re kings. Kings get shit done.”

“Margo—“

“We both want Eliot back.” She shakes her hand at him, blindly waving her other hand in between them. “And we’re not going to get him back by sitting here talking about our feelings like a bag of dicks.”

“ _What_?”

She shrugs a shoulder. “I was trying something. It didn’t translate.” She leans forward and shoves his knee, before shaking her hand at him again. “We need a plan. And sitting here trying not to cry over the past isn’t how we do that. Do you want him back?”

He huffs. “Of course I do—“

“Then get off your ass, and come with me. We’re going to figure this shit out. Together.” She raises her eyebrows, nodding down at her hand. “I’m not letting you get yourself killed. And I’m not letting Eliot rot while that fucking god wannabe traipses around in his body. Are you?”

His eyes dart between her hand and her face, before he hesitantly unwraps his arms from around his legs and reaches out to take her hand. “No.”

She nods, once, succinct, and pulls him up. He pretends not to see the tremble in her jaw, or the misty film over her eyes. “First things first. You’re going to tell me everything. Okay?”

He bites down on his bottom lip before nodding. “Yeah,” He murmurs. “Okay.”

Squeezing his hand, she moves in to rest her head on his shoulder. “No dying, Q,” She whispers. “I fucking mean it.”

Feeling hollow, he nods. “Yeah,” He echoes. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out! I'm sadlittlenerdking on tumblr!


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